Okay, This Looks Bad
by soulofink
Summary: A series of one shots, based on one word prompts, focusing on the one and only Clint Barton. Expect appearances from Phil, Natasha, and the rest of the gang. Usually around 1000 words, maybe a little longer.
1. Treat

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Clint Barton, Phil Coulson, Natasha Romanoff, or any of the Marvel Universe/its affiliations.**_

 _I decided to write these little one shots because there are a lot of scenes I wanted to write between Clint/Phil/Natasha that don't necessarily fit into the master plans of my major stories. So I found a prompt list of single word prompts that I am basing these off of. I plan to do lots of these as well as some other series [like AUs and Clint's birthday mini series] so look forward to that._

 _The prompt for this one shot was the word **"Treat"**_

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

 _March 2nd, 2007_

 _New York City, New York_

* * *

"Where are you going, Clint?"

Clint stopped dead in his tracks, keeping his back to his handler. He slowly pushed his hands into his hoodie pocket, spinning around, an innocent smile on his face.

"Back to my room. Think I forgot something."

The two of them were scheduled to join an overnight security detail in Washington DC and had just finished loading up the Jeep they'd be driving. Clint had ducked out of the garage when Phil had looked down to answer an email. He had barely made it to the elevator before Phil was behind him. The fact that nothing ever went over the man's head was usually the thing that saved Clint's life, but today it was just annoying.

"Mm hm," Phil said, taking a slow step towards him. "Then why is there food in your pocket?"

Clint slowly pulled his hands out of his pockets, showing them to be empty. There was, in fact, three pieces of chicken wrapped in a napkin hidden there, but he didn't need to tell Phil that.

"Don't know what you're talking about," he said easily, reaching behind him to hit the elevator call button. Phil folded his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow.

"Because I was hungry?" he tried again, with little less conviction.

"Come on, Clint. Drop the bullshit. You've been acting strange all day. What's going on?"

Clint hesitated, glancing back as the elevator opened. He sighed heavily, knowing he was busted, and he might as well come clean. He stepped back into the elevator, gesturing for him to follow. Phil did without a word and the two silently rode up to the seventh floor.

Clint stepped out and walked over to his room. Once he was at the door, he hesitated again.

"Promise not to freak out," he said, looking over at his handler. Phil gave him a pointed look, silently asking _'Why would I freak out?'_ Clint shook his head, placing his hand on the palm reader and waiting for the light to flash green. He opened the door, stepping into his room as Phil followed. What met him was nothing like Phil had been expecting.

A one eyed Labrador retriever jumped up from Clint's bed, running over to where the archer had knelt down on the ground. He was currently energetically scratching the dog behind its ears, a big smile on his face. Phil let the door shut behind him, looking curiously down at his agent and the dog.

"I figured Lucky could use a treat before we left," Clint said, hugging the dog around his neck. The dog - Lucky, apparently - sat down on his lap and Clint pulled a chicken leg out of his pocket at fed it to him.

"It has a name?" Phil asked, wondering how Clint had managed to sneak a dog all the way up to the seventh floor.

Clint's gaze softened slightly as he looked up at Phil. "You remember that run in I had with Ivan Banionis about a month ago? Well, Lucky used to belong to him until that bastard threw him in front of traffic. I brought him to a vet and somehow he survived." He shrugged, looking down at the dog who was working on his second piece of chicken.

"So, you decided to keep him?" Phil honestly didn't know _h_ _ow_ Clint had gotten the dog up here but he knew for a fact he couldn't keep him. It was against every SHIELD regulation and it just didn't make sense. He had nowhere to keep him and was hardly on base long enough to care for him anyway.

"I couldn't just let him go, Phil. He saved my life," Clint said, rubbing the dog behind his head.

"He did?"

Clint nodded, looking down at Lucky. "Yeah. Banionis and his crew were shooting at me and Lucky attacked them. Which is why he was thrown in the street. Vet said he shouldn't have survived but he did."

Phil slowly nodded, finally understanding. The dog was a loner, a stray, who had nowhere to go and nothing to turn to. He had survived, defying all odds even though everyone had said he was going to die. The world had given up on him and left him to die but somehow, he had been given a second chance.

Much like someone else Phil knew.

"You know you can't keep him here. There's no one to take care of him when you're gone," Phil started, the dropping of his agent's features making his heart hurt. "But, I can talk to the director and see if I can work something out. Agent Hill mentioned something to me about wanting a dog."

Clint looked down at Lucky, who was busy licking his face. To Phil, Clint had never been a stray. He had been lost, sure, but not a stray. Strays were unwanted and abandoned to die. But Clint wasn't like that.

Because Phil would always want Clint and couldn't even dream of leaving him to die. Ever. Even back when the only way he knew him was through a case file and an old military ID photo.

"She'd only watching him while you're away on missions and you can spend as much time as you want with him when you're on base," he said, adjusting his statement. It would be a trick getting Fury on board, but the look in Clint's eyes was just one he couldn't say no to.

"You'd really do that?" he asked, looking up at Phil with hope in his eyes. The handler nodded with a sigh.

"Of course, I would. He did save your life after all," Phil said, taking a step towards the two of them. He pat the dog on the head and he could have sworn the animal looked up and smiled at him.

"Come on. We're on a time schedule."

Clint nodded, jumping to his feet and rubbing Lucky's ear with enthusiasm.

"If I have to."

"You have to," Phil said, putting a hand on Clint's shoulder, pushing him towards the door. The archer smiled softly over at Phil, glancing back at Lucky, who had moved to lie down on Clint's bed.

"Thanks, Phil."

"Sure thing, kid. Sure thing."

* * *

 _There we go!_

 _This is the sort of thing you should expect from these little one shots. None of them will be too long, but they will (hopefully) be able to stand alone. Some of them are domestic like this one and others are a little more dramatic, if that's what you enjoy more._

 _Expect lots of Phil and Natasha, and I might even throw in the rest of the team at some point. There will definitely be glimpses into Clint's inner SHIELD circle (Fury, Hill, Coulson, Dr. Hawkins, Agent Bryant, and Agent Foster) as well. I plan on expanding on all Clint's relationships with the whole gang._

 _Stay tuned for the next one!_

 _Ciao_


	2. Spider

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Clint Barton, Phil Coulson, Natasha Romanoff, or any of the Marvel Universe/its affiliations.**_

 _Woah, two stories in one day? That's got to be a personal record or something._

 _What can I say, I love these little one shots. Sometimes it's nice to write something that doesn't end in blood and tears. And if you only follow me for the angst, I hope this content is enough too hold you over until it comes. I am working on Fallujah diligently and it should (hopefully) be out soon._

 _Shout out to **Melfice13** who left a very sweet comment that made me all warm and fuzzy inside. I agree hands down that MCU Clint doesn't get the attention he deserves and I think Fraction does a super awesome job of capturing his character. Thanks for reading!_

 _Also, shout out to **Story5** who requested this particular prompt. I loved writing it, so thank you._

 _I'll stop rambling now and move on to this one shot. The prompt was **"Spider"**_

* * *

 _December 15th, 2010_

 _Granada, Nicaragua_

* * *

"Would you get down from there? You're being ridiculous," Natasha scolded, folding her arms over her chest. Clint shook his head from on top of the wardrobe, pushing himself farther against the wall.

"No way, Tasha. That thing is _huge_ ," he insisted, staring down at the floor, his eyes wide. Natasha had never seen Clint show even a glimpse of fear in the almost three years she had known him, but right now it was consuming his expression. She could have laughed, it was so comical.

"Please, Clint, its much more afraid of you than you are of it," she said, moving between him and the large wolf spider that had found its way into their motel room.

"Oh, did it tell you that?" Clint asked, brandishing his favorite knife as if the spider could somehow jump all the way up to where he was and somehow attack him.

"No, but look at it," Natasha persisted, gesturing down at the spider behind her. "It's so much smaller than you."

"So is a _hand grenade_ but you can be damn sure I'd run from that too," Clint said, never once pulling his eyes from the spider. Of all the things she expected her partner to have a phobia of - closed spaces, crowded places, failure, and so on - _spiders_ was near the bottom of the list. It was such a lame thing to be afraid of, especially for someone like Clint.

Natasha opened her mouth to argue back when her cell phone rang. She rolled her eyes, pulling her gaze away from a terrified Clint as she fished her phone out of her pocket. She didn't bother to look at the number on the screen before answering.

"Romanoff," she said simply.

" _Widow, it's Coulson. Checking to make sure you two got settled in,"_ their handler answered. She nodded even though Phil couldn't see her.

"Yeah, we made it here just fine. But there was an… unwanted visitor in our motel room that spooked Clint," Natasha said, the hint of a smirk on her face.

"I am _not_ spooked. This is a tactical retreat," Clint said in defense, but she wasn't listening.

" _What kind of visitor?"_ Phil asked, the worry undertone to his voice not unnoticed by the master assassin. She had gotten to know Phil more recently, and would never claim to know him as well as Clint did, but one thing she did know was that he was prone to worry, especially when it came to his oldest recruit.

"An eight legged kind," Natasha answered, looking down at the spider. It had started moving up the wall and Clint had tensed, his eyes never leaving the small creature.

Natasha heard Phil laugh. _"Is this about his spider thing?"_

"Yeah, I didn't know he was-"

" _Terrified of them. Completely harrowed,"_ Phil said, the worry gone and replaced with a shred of humor. When he wasn't busy worrying about Clint, Phil had no problem antagonizing him. The two had a very unique relationship she hadn't seen in anyone before in her life. One minute the were throwing deadly sarcasm at each other and the next they were taking bullets for each other.

It was strange, to say the least.

"Aw, that's so sad. Poor Barton," Natasha said, laughing at the middle finger Clint shot in her direction. He hadn't moved from him perch on the wardrobe, but he had lowered his knife. It seemed getting teased by both his partner and his handler was something that he wasn't going to take lightly.

" _I've got it, Romanoff. Put me on speaker,"_ Phil said.

"Yeah, hold on," Natasha said, pulling the phone away from her ear and hitting the speaker button. "You're on."

" _Clinton Francis Barton, stop being such a baby and get your ass off whatever piece of furniture you jumped on. It's a_ _ **spider**_ _. Not a threat, or a target, or a damn hand grenade,"_ he said, and Natasha had to stifle a laugh.

"First of all, shut the fuck up _Philip_. Second of all, stop patronizing me," Clint said with a very pointed look on his face that Natasha knew would have made Phil roll his eyes.

" _Clint, you've been shot multiple times and constantly put yourself in danger for the sake of your job. You're a trained assassin, for Christ's sake. Act like it."_

"All this coming from the guy who's afraid of ducks," Clint shot back without hesitating. Natasha couldn't hold back her laugh the second time.

"You're afraid of _ducks,_ Coulson?" she asked and she heard Phil sigh.

" _You're going to pay for that, Barton,"_ he said, sounding much more exasperated now. That was about what Natasha expected. The two could go back and forth like this for hours. She had, unfortunately, had to witness that on several occasions. As entertaining as it was when it started, it got a bit annoying to all the bystanders after the first hour. The two would throw sarcasm for a while then Clint would get irritated and take out his hearing aides and Phil would start angrily signing in response. It was a sight to see. _"Romanoff, can you get rid of the damn spider?"_

Lucky for her, however, it seemed Phil was eager to cut this particular conversation short. "Of course, Coulson," Natasha said, making no attempt to mask the amusement in her voice. She may not fit in between the duo that was Agent Coulson and Hawkeye, but that didn't mean she didn't know how to push both of their buttons separately. That was part of her job after all.

" _Thank you. Check in after you run surveillance. Leave the line open_."

"Yes sir," Natasha said, smiling up at Clint who was still glaring at the spider on the wall. "Stand by for report."

" _Standing by. Watch your six out there,"_ Phil said, his voice falling into his even professionalism Natasha was so familiar with.

"Yes sir," she said in agreement. Both her and Phil knew that when he told her to watch her six, what he really meant was to watch _Barton's_ six. The archer had a nasty habit of getting himself into nasty situations that he would later need to be dragged out of. Usually it was Phil pulling him out of the fire, but these days he trusted Natasha more and more to take his place. She would die for him just as quickly as Phil would, if not faster.

Budapest had proved that seven months ago.

" _Take care, Romanoff. Don't let him do anything stupid,"_ Phil said, and was hanging up before Natasha had the chance to respond. She was grateful, though, because even she knew she didn't have the ability to stop Clint from doing something stupid. Once he set his mind on something, he usually went through with it, no matter how stupid it was.

That was one of the many perks of being his partner.

Natasha returned her phone to her pocket, turning around to the spider that had crawled eye lever with her. She scooped up the creature, gently cupping it between her hands and moving to the window.

She glanced back at Clint, who was looking at her like she had grown two heads. He may have been a master assassin, but it turns out that sometimes he was more like normal people than he would admit. Clint Barton was one of the biggest contradictions Natasha had ever met in her life, and it only made Natasha want to know more about him. Even though she knew a lot already, she felt like there was a lot she was missing out on.

Clint was the first book she had found trouble reading. And it only made her want to read it more. She had gotten snippets in the three years of their partnership, but never all of it.

Maybe, one day, she'd be lucky enough to get the full story.

"Relax, Barton. It's just a spider."

* * *

 _This one was a bit longer and hopefully just as cute as the last one. This is the first thing I've published with Natasha and I really enjoyed writing her character. This is obviously a ways in to her and Clint's partnership, but no worries. I will expand on them meeting and growing as partners in later stories. But I love their domestic relationship almost as much as I love the angst between them._

 _And aah! Deaf!Clint, I know! I realize he didn't start off deaf in my series, but it will be explained in a future story. To me, it was important to include his deafness because that's part of who he is. Given, you can hardly tell sometimes because of his hearing aides and ability to read lips. It will be more prevalent in future stories, so look out for that._

 _Like I said, I really enjoyed writing this, so if there are any specific prompts you want to see, drop me a review and I'll definitely do it. They don't have to be single words either - if there are any snapshots of Clint/Phil/Natasha/anyone else's life you want to see, let me know. I **love** doing commissions. _

_See you soon!_

 _Ciao_


	3. Dance

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Clint Barton, Phil Coulson, Natasha Romanoff, or any of the Marvel Universe/its affiliations.**_

 _Here we are with another one shot. This one's got a little more action and a hint of Clintasha (which I love)._

 _Shout out to **Learlorde** for reviewing the last chapter. I love to read all the feedback from you guys!_

 _The word for this one shot was **"Dance"**_

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

 _October 20th, 2010_

 _Marseille, France_

* * *

" _I'm in position."_

Natasha gave the slightest inclination of her head to show she had heard her partner. She knew he could see her, even if she was having trouble finding him. He was above her, somewhere. Watching. Waiting.

" _Time to work your magic, Tash."_

He was the only person in the world who called her that. She pretended it was annoying, but in reality, she loved hearing it. It was the first time in her life someone had come up with a nickname for her. And it was better because it was coming from her Hawk - his personal touch had that effect on most things.

Natasha wasted no more time in the shadows. She moved towards the center of the dance floor, her hips swaying and the dark green fabric of her dress pooling around her. She kept her eyes locked on her target - a tall man in a rich suit - until he noticed her. When he did, it was as if time stopped. Natasha stopped walking towards him, altering her course slightly. Even as she turned, she could feel his eyes following her. She mentally counted to three. It never took longer than that. The man was on her in a few seconds, his eyes taking all of her in.

"Je ne crois pas que nous ayons jamais rencontré," he said, his voice low as he stepped closer to her. She had to physically refrain herself from snapping his wrist when he put his hand on the small of her back. "Je sais que je me souviendrais d'une si belle femme." _(I don't think we've met. I would remember meeting such a beautiful woman.)_

Natasha turned to look at him, a sweet smile on her lips. "Vous pensez que je suis belle?" _(You think I'm beautiful?)_

The man grinned down at her, his eyes dark with the lust Natasha was all too familiar with. "Danse avec moi." _(Dance with me.)_

It wasn't a question, so she didn't treat it as one. Instead, Natasha took his free hand, walking him back to the center of the dance floor. She kept her exit in the corner of her eye as she wrapped her arms around him. He pulled her close, his hands too low on her hips. Natasha kept her smile on her face as they started to sway with the music. He dipped her down towards the floor, pulling her up into a slow spin. He leaned forward and Natasha had to turn her face so his lips would land on her cheek rather than her mouth. Couldn't make it that easy.

He pulled back with a slightly confused frown, but he didn't complain. He tightened his grip on her hips slightly and she felt his eyes travel down her body. But she just kept smiling.

She didn't stop smiling when the knife appeared in her hand. Natasha pulled him close, brushing her lips over his ear.

"Hawkeye envoie ses salutations," she muttered. _(Hawkeye sends his regards.)_

Before the man could react, she was pulling her arm back and dragging the knife back across his throat. His eyes went wide as she let him fall to the ground, blood pouring from his throat. Just as she was stepping back from the body, someone next to her screamed. Gunshots rang out around her, but she was already moving. She grabbed her skirts in her hands, running towards the staircase she knew was tucked in the corner behind her. As she did, she listened to the gunshots behind her - series of random shots followed by quick, precise ones she knew belonged to Clint. She had not doubt he would have all the security down before they even realized where he was shooting from.

Natasha ripped her heels off her feet as she ascended the stairs, not coming to a stop until she was hidden behind a curtain on the third floor balcony. She took a half step forward, looking out over the ballroom. The guests were screaming and running towards all the exits, but Natasha didn't care about them. She was far more interested in the twelve dead body guards littered around the dance floor. Each of them had a single bullet hole in between there eyes. Always the show off, her Hawk.

In the next instant, he was beside her, a wide grin plastered on his face. She still had no idea where he had come from.

Clint slipped the strap of his sniper rifle over his shoulder, looking down at his handy work. Natasha saw his gaze linger on the man she had killed herself. Clint had told her he had known the man from his past but hadn't elaborated. Natasha could tell by the tone in his voice that whatever it had been wasn't good. That was initiative enough for her to kill the man without question.

"How did I do?" he finally asked, whatever darkness the memory of that man had brought suddenly gone. Natasha looked down at her watch. She met his hopeful eyes with a crooked smirk.

"Not your best."

Clint's face fell as he looked back to the ballroom below. "Dammit. I thought for sure I beat my record this time."

"You'll just have to try harder," Natasha said, gently putting a hand on his shoulder. He looked down at her and for a moment, all Natasha saw was him. She let herself fall into those stormy grey eyes that had captivated her all those years ago. The same eyes that had seen something in her she hadn't had the strength to see in herself. He looked down at her with the same ferocity and - for a moment - it was just the two of them. No job, no danger, no target. Just them.

" _If you two are done staring into each other's eyes, I'd like to be home in time for dinner."_

Phil Coulson's voice took them both out of their trance and Clint was laughing.

"Jesus, Overwatch, do you know everything?"

" _The only thing I know right now is that I'm starving and would like to go get some food."_

"Oh! I know this little place down by the port - Les Arcenaulx - that serves the _best_ bouillabaisse I've ever had," Clint said, suddenly getting excited. Natasha couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm for food.

" _Is that right?"_

"Won't eat it anywhere else," Clint said, matter-of-factly.

"It sounds good to me," Natasha said in agreement, suddenly realizing just how hungry she was too.

" _I'll see you two there. You'd better not take any detours."_

Clint shot Natasha a wide grin and she couldn't help but smile back.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Phil."

* * *

 _Alrighty, another one down. I loved writing this because it had some really cute moments. I really like Clintasha, and plan on writing it into my stories - in a way. This will all come to light soon, but I've never imagined them as mushy-cutesy partners. It - to me - just doesn't fit into their characters. It will all be explained later (in a story that may or may not take place in a Hungarian capital) but I have a little different take on their relationship than most people._

 _Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this little snippet into Strike Team Delta's life. Drop me a review letting me know how much you did/didn't enjoy it._

 _Until next time._

 _Ciao_


	4. Vault

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Clint Barton, Phil Coulson, Natasha Romanoff, or any of the Marvel Universe/its affiliations._**

 _Got another one for you. I really like this because I love writing Clint in intense situations that don't end in death._

 _The word for this one shot was **"Vault"**_

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

 _December 3rd, 2004_

 _Brooklyn, New York_

* * *

"This is a terrible idea," Phil snapped, looking over at Clint who had a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"You were the one who wanted to come to the bank today," Clint pointed out, edging closer to the wall.

"Clint," Phil hissed, desperately trying to get Clint to stop. "Be rational."

Clint shot a look over his shoulder that said _'Seriously?'_ Phil couldn't argue. The archer was rarely ever rational, if ever. But right now was a very bad time to be irrational.

"I'm just giving him what he asked for. I'd rather him hold me at gunpoint than an innocent bystander," Clint muttered, peeking his head around the desk he was crouched behind. Phil shook his head, his hand resting on the butt of his gun.

"No, Clint. If he compromises you, he'll kill you."

"Then let's hope I'm better at my job than him," Clint said with a smirk. Then he was moving, keeping low to the ground.

"No, wait, _Clint_ ," Phil hissed, but Clint was already moving, keeping low to the ground. Phil huffed softly as he watched helpless as his agent walked towards the vault.

"Hey! Hey, stop!"

Clint stumbled back, grabbing at the edge of the desk behind them as a man walked out of the vault, gun in hand. His arrogance was gone and was replaced with raw, palpable fear. He might not have agreed with Clint's plan, but the kid was still damn good at his job. He was the best covert operative Phil had ever seen.

Clint threw his hands up, ducking away from the gun, his eyes wide with fear. "Pl-Please don't kill me," he said, scrambling to back away from the man with the gun. The man grabbed him, pulling him flat against his chest and pointing the gun at his head.

"If anybody moves, I'm going to blow this kid's brains out!" the man shouted, tightening his grip on Clint. The archer whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut. Phil had to admit he was really selling the terrified teenager act.

"Oh, God, please," Clint said, grabbing onto the man's arm around his neck.

"Shut up!" the man snarled. His attention was caught by the sounds of approaching police sirens outside. Phil relaxed a little, glad that they had at least arrived. "I thought I said no cops!" the man screamed, gesturing wildly with his gun. Phil tense again, worried that the man's recklessness would cause his agent to get shot again. His stress levels really couldn't take that right now.

"You," the man said, pointing his gun at Phil. Apparently, he had been staring a little to intensely at Clint. Phil saw his agent's shoulders tense at the shift in situation. "Get up."

Phil slowly obeyed, dropping his hand from his gun that was - hopefully - hidden within his jacket. He raised his hands as he stood, looking at the man with a calm demeanor.

"Fill that bag," he said, gesturing to an open duffel on the floor. Phil nodded, slowly moving over to it.

"Alright," he said, holding his hands out to him. Clint was looking over at Phil with a hardened gaze, but Phil was purposefully avoiding his eyes. He moved over to the bag, pulling it open all the way and moving towards the vault.

"Hurry up!"

"We've got company," a second said from his position at the window. This was, apparently, all Clint could take. He snorted a laugh, rolling his eyes. The gun was jammed hard against the side of his face and he snorted again.

"Is something funny?"

Clint shook his head, a humorous grin on his face. "No, I'm sorry. It's just you're really, _really_ bad at this," he said. Phil shot him a glare over his shoulder but Clint wasn't paying attention.

"Is that so?"

" _'We've got company',_ " Clint mocked, not bothering to keep the humor out of his voice. "Seriously, who talks like that?"

The man snarled, pushing the gun harder against Clint's temple. "Shut up," he growled.

"But I'm just getting started. You made a shitton of mistakes."

The man paused, his hand tightening on the gun. Phil wanted to yell at Clint to shut up but all he could do at this point was watch.

"Like what?"

"Well, first of all you decided to rob a bank I didn't want to come to in the first place, so that was pretty stupid. Then you made it worse by pointing a gun at a good friend of mine."

The gunman glared over at Phil, who offered him a shrug. He knew Clint was just getting started. And when Clint got started, not even a _hurricane_ could stop him.

"But that wasn't your stupidest mistake. Close, but not quite," Clint said, pretty much rambling at this point. Still the man didn't pull the trigger. For the first time, Phil was glad for Clint's seemingly useless talent to talk for hours.

"What was?"

"Oh, that would be me," he said. The gunman tensed, but Clint was already moving. He grabbed the man's arm with the gun, pulling it straight as he fired. People screamed as a bullet buried itself into the wall next to Phil's head. Clint shifted, pulling his arm over the back of his shoulder blades, grabbing onto his gun. His free arm came down to elbow him in the rib cage as he fired at the second man coming towards him. A bullet connected with his leg and the man went down screaming. Clint kicked back against the man's knee, and Phil heard it snap.

He planted his foot hard on his thigh, using the leverage to flop over the man's head. Clint didn't release his arm as he did, and the limb popped loudly out of place. The man screamed as Clint let him fall to the ground, slamming the butt of his gun the back of his head. Phil drew his gun, aiming to put down the third man, but Clint was already firing twice over his shoulder, hitting the man in both of his kneecaps. The gunman fell and Clint kicked the heel of his boot down, connecting roughly with his temple

Phil sighed heavily, dropping his gun. "You couldn't let me have one?" he asked.

Clint shrugged, hitting the mag release from the gun and pulling the slide loose. He threw the pieces to the floor, stepping over the man between them.

"You've gotta keep up, old man," he said with a lopsided grin.

"I can't believe you did that. I should kill you," Phil protested, doing his best to ignore the cheeky look on his face.

"You were the one who wanted to come to Brooklyn. I hate Brooklyn," Clint said with a roll of his eyes, the grin never leaving his face. He had obviously enjoyed himself a little too much. "And killing me would be counter-productive at this point."

"You're bleeding, jackass," Phil pointed out, changing the subject as he holstered his gun. Clint looked down at his hand where one of the bullets had grazed over his wrist. It wasn't bad, but the trough in his flesh still wasn't fun to look at. Clint waved his bloody hand dismissively.

"I think I'll live, grandpa," Clint said, wiping some of the blood off on his jeans. Phil rolled his eyes, pushing past Clint towards the front door.

"I have half a mind to leave to leave you to be processed," he said, already pulling his badge out of his pocket. All he had to do was flash it and the officers would let them leave without questioning. One of the many perks of SHIELD.

"You wouldn't dare," Clint insisted, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"How much you want to bet?"

Clint just rolled his eyes, pushing out of the bank and Phil followed with a smile.

* * *

 _I'm kind of obsessed with these one shots. They're so easy to write, I can knock out a few a day. It's a great way to get material out there without committing it a multi chapter fic. I hope y'all enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy writing them._

 _Also! Look out for a little longer one shot - titled_ ** _"Born A Survivor"_** _\- that should be coming out in the next few days. It is a little more Belgium angst but also some feel-good bromance between my boys. I really liked starting that series and hope y'all will stick around to read it._

 _Drop me a review if you have feedback or requests! I love reading them._

 _Until next time!_

 _Ciao_


	5. Star

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Clint Barton, Phil Coulson, or any of the Marvel Universe/its affiliations.**_

 _Wow, it took me so long to throw together another one shot. But it's here! This one is purely Clint and Phil - no action, sorry, just a lot of talking. Still, I hope you enjoy!_

 _The word for this one shot was **"Star"**_

* * *

 _July 23rd, 2004_

 _Zürich, Switzerland_

* * *

Clint was alone on the rooftop for thirty seconds before the door opened behind him.

He didn't have to turn around to know it was Phil coming up behind him. He didn't have to raise his head to know it was his handler who was sitting down next to him _._ It wasn't exactly the first time Phil had come to find him up on the rooftop, but Clint had hoped he would have a little longer to himself before he was found.

The two of them sat together in silence for a few minutes before Phil broke the silence.

"What was it tonight?"

For a moment, Clint wasn't sure he was going to answer.

Not like he hadn't made a habit of talking to Phil when sleep escaped him, but tonight just felt different. It felt worse. In the midst of the silence, Clint tried to convince himself he didn't have to talk and he could just sit here until Phil left. Even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't true. He would have to say something.

"Belgium," he said flatly. It wasn't a lie but it was the barest minimum he could have offered. It hadn't just been Belgium- which had been a nightmare on it's own. The mission-gone-wrong had been just over four weeks ago, and Clint had been transferred to Switzerland from Germany five days ago. The worst of his injuries had subsided and his pain was only mild now, but the memories were still fresh. Many nights over the past few weeks had been consumed by nightmares of the warehouse where he had almost lost his life.

Still, tonight was worse.

Phil nodded, not even attempting to push the matter further. That was one of the things Clint loved about Phil - he never pressured Clint to talk more than he wanted to. It was one of the many great things about his handler.

Clint turned his eyes up to the sky, running his eyes over the clear abyss above him. He felt Phil's eyes on him, but didn't give any indication that he noticed. After a moment longer of sitting in silence, Clint sighed softly.

"There isn't a lot of things I miss about Iowa, but I've never been anywhere in the world that has a better sky," he said, never once tearing his eyes from the sky. He saw Phil frown slightly out of the corner of his eyes, no doubt confused about the sudden conversation shift.

"Really?" Phil asked, his voice low.

Clint nodded. "Yeah. The stars are unlike anything I've ever seen."

Phil didn't say anything, waiting for Clint to continue. It was only on very rare occasions when Clint would talk about his childhood and he imagined Phil wouldn't want to say anything to make him change his mind. Clint hated talking about his childhood - all the pieces that hadn't scared him for life were either too distant or too painful to remember. There was a lot Clint didn't want _anyone_ to know, even Phil.

This might be one of the few exceptions.

"I had a second floor bedroom and my window opened up to one of the lowest parts of the roof. In the summer, on the really clear nights, I would crawl out onto the roof with my blanket and I would just stare up at the sky. Sometimes I would even fall asleep up there when I tried to count the stars," Clint said with the small shake of his head. "My mother would freak out in the morning when she found me curled up on the roof. She threatened to take my window away," he added with a small laugh. The small shred of happiness he got from remembering his mother almost made him want to stop talking and to just live in that moment, remembering her.

He glanced down at Phil who wasn't looking at him anymore but was smiling softly as he spoke. That alone urged him to continue.

"I always remembered that in the long nights at the orphanage. Most nights I slept in the rafters of the barn - felt safer that way. There were holes in the ceiling and I could see straight through to the same stars I had growing up. It reminded me of home."

Clint dropped his eyes to his hands that he was clenching in his hoodie sleeves, not wanting to think of the nights he had to spend alone in the orphanage. Those had easily been the worst years of his life. Eager to change the subject, he kept talking.

"In my circus days, the stars were the only thing that remained constant. Luna had a thing for the stars too - she knew where all the constellations were and what all the stars were called. She taught me over the years and I still remember. But New York just doesn't have the same stars as we did growing up," Clint said, coming to a conclusion. He missed those stars and the memories that came with them. Some nights he had been lucky enough to spend in a city where the pollution wasn't so bad and he could count the stars again. But even those memories were ruined with the bloodshed that followed soon after.

It felt like years before Phil finally broke the silence.

"I've never seen stars like that," he admitted, glancing over at Clint. The young archer looked over, meeting his eyes. "I was born and raised in New York. The only time I've ever been in a rural area where the sky is clear enough, I never paid much attention to the stars."

"Shame," Clint said softly. "Puts everything in perspective."

"How so?"

"Makes you realize just how small you are," Clint answered, purposefully avoiding Phil's gaze. His handler didn't answer, simply because he didn't know what to say to that. Not even he could argue with existentialism.

"I'll have to take you out there someday," the archer said. Phil looked over at him and was surprised to see his charge looking back at him. The raw vulnerability was gone from his eyes and Phil was relieved that he had managed to distract him long enough for his nightmares to at least fade a little. "Iowa, I mean."

Phil nodded, smiling softly as he reached over, putting his hand on Clint's shoulder. "I'd love to see it."

Clint looked away, seemingly satisfied with that answer. Phil let the air settle into silence once more, content with leaving the conversation at that. Just the prospect of visiting the places Clint had grew up in made him excited - it meant Clint was finally coming around to opening up to him. The progress was good.

All Phil could ask for was progress.

In the end, it was Clint who stood up first. "The nurse is going to flip shit if I'm not in there when she does her round," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Phil nodded, standing as well. "We'd better get back then."

The two walked to the door together, and Phil opened it up for Clint who was staring up at the sky. With the shake of his head, he pulled his eyes away and stepped inside the stairwell.

"It's just not the same," Phil heard him mutter. He agreed, it wasn't the same.

It was better.

* * *

 _I love writing these kind of one shots because they're for the sole purpose of the growing relationship between my two faves. Seriously, love these. Also, Fallujah is coming along quite nicely. I'm trying to finish all of it before posting but I might get impatient. Stay tuned._

 _In other news, Ant-Man and the Wasp came out a few days ago and it KILLED. If you haven't gone out to see it, I 100% recommend. It was fantastic._

 _Scroll down and drop me a review letting me know what you think of these one shots._

 _Until the next time._

 _Ciao!_


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